00Q Ficlets
by doctorg
Summary: These are ficlets, usually written on Tumblr that I've been posting on AO3 but haven't yet posted here. Because I can't indicate more than one fandom without it being a crossover, I'll sort them by fandom. Each ficlet is a self-contained one-shot. I think most are pretty smut-free, but since I don't want to watch my language I'm rating them all T.
1. The Charade

Summary: James Bond / Q, Unresolved Sexual Tension. This was the ficlet that resulted from my prompt request, with the prompt "Fake Married Trope." Sorry it turned out a bit more angsty than fluffy!

Chapter Text

"...and then the mayor stood up in the town square and said, 'Don't be alarmed citizens. It's just Bach — decomposing!"

Everyone around the table laughed at the atrocious joke, to an extent directly proportional to the amount of wine they had imbibed. It was the tail end of a long and amiable dinner, and everyone was a little loose, replete from the truly excellent meal and wine chosen from their host's expansive cellars.

"Mark! You tell that joke every time," Angela said, swiping affectionately and somewhat drunkenly at her husband's shoulder.

"It's funny every time!" Mark protested weakly. A nice man, on the whole. Just a pencil-pusher really, an accountant who happened to be creative and amoral enough to be the lynchpin of a money laundering operation that used digital crypto currencies to keep a particularly nefarious Vietnamese crime consortium in business.

"Every time," the husband of the other couple affirmed congenially. What was his name again? Something with a P. Peter? Paul?

"See, Pat's got my back," Mark said. Ah, that's right. Patrick and...Lakshmi. A nice couple as well. Boring, but nice. He was a stereotypical self-absorbed City type, finance or mergers or something like that, but she seemed a little sharper. She did something with children...pediatric oncologist, was it? Even bright with wine her eyes seemed to dwell on James and Q with an unsettling degree of insight, and Bond sat back, resting his left arm carelessly over the back of Q's chair.

He leaned in, his nose just nuzzling into the sweep of hair behind Q's ear. "More wine, darling?" he murmured, smiling as Q seemed to shiver a little.

"That would be lovely, James," Q answered back, reaching up to give Bond's left hand a squeeze as Bond poured.

Bond stifled his reaction before his smile could turn into a grin. When he had first received the mission brief he had been utterly incredulous. The very idea that the stiff, prim Quartermaster would be able to pull off an undercover mission — posing as Bond's _husband_, no less.

It was ridiculous. And yet Q was playing the part remarkably well. All the thinly-veiled hostility and barbed words that typically surrounded him like a porcupine's quills had disappeared, leaving this unexpectedly unguarded and pliable young man behind, now leaning into Bond's body heat, his cheeks gently flushed from the wine.

Bond let his fingertips brush up Q's shoulder. Pretending to be engrossed in the conversation, he skimmed his palm over the nape of Q's neck, a long warm sweep up the velvety skin until he could delve his fingers into the soft tumble of hair at the back of Q's head. After all the time Bond had spent under the chill of Q's dismissive gaze and the lash of his sharp tongue he was taking great pleasure in getting a little of his own back, being as handsy with his formerly-staid Quartermaster as the mission parameters could reasonably allow.

Q's eyes flicked in Bond's direction, the mossy green depths unreadable in the flickering candlelight. The absence of the usual barrier of thick-rimmed frames had the effect of making Q look unusually wide-eyed and vulnerable, intensifying for Bond the somewhat surreal experience of having his Quartermaster nestled soft and languorous against the curve of his body.

"Brandy, James?" Mark asked.

"That would be lovely. And, if it's not too presumptuous, I'm eager to see this library I've heard so much about." Now that they were all a little fuzzy with alcohol, Bond just had to get them out of sight of the entry to the home office for long enough for Q to work his magic on Mark's router.

"Excellent idea! We'll take brandy in the library," Mark said amicably, handing out snifters before snagging the bottle and leading the way.

They all trooped down the corridor. Bond used the opportunity to wind an arm around Q's slender waist as they walked, smothering another smile as the man stiffened instinctively for a moment before remembering his role and leaning into Bond in return.

The fire was already flickering warmly in the library as they all settled comfortably onto club chairs and sofas, Bond pulling Q with him to curl up on one side of a leather chaise as they broke into more intimate conversational groups.

Lakshmi sat at the other end of the chaise, her attention turning again to Bond and Q. Her hazel eyes were keen and perceptive in a way that reminded Bond almost uncomfortably of how M used to look at him — as if weighing his value and finding him just barely worthy — but her voice when she spoke was warm.

"So, tell me. How did you two meet?"

Bond jumped in before Q could respond, still somewhat dubious of Q's ability to lie fluently. "We met at the National Gallery," Bond said easily, twining his fingers with Q's, feeling Q's hand twitch as Bond drew a slow, lazy circle in the center of Q's palm with his thumb. "Quentin sat beside me and commented on the painting I was looking at." He let his voice grow soft, confidential. "I knew from that moment...there would never be anyone else for me."

"How sweet," Lakshmi cooed.

Bond looked at Q with a smirk, expecting him to share his amusement. Instead, Bond's pulse suddenly sped, ice seeming to bloom in his chest at the look on Q's face. Q looked..._stricken_. Bewildered, almost _wounded_, the grey-green eyes sheened in the firelight, limpid and vulnerable. Bond's hand tightened instinctively on Q's and Q blinked, the expression falling off his face instantly. He looked completely composed now, and Bond would have thought that he had imagined it if not for the lingering thrum of his pulse and the prickling up his spine. Bond could read people, and he knew better than to doubt his intincts. _What the hell had just happened?_

Q cleared his throat. "He was a charmer even then," he said, just the slightest roughness to his voice as he leaned forward and took a hearty sip of his brandy. "If you'll excuse me," he said, nodding to Lakshmi, extricating himself gracefully from Bond's grip and moving toward the door.

Bond watched the slender back disappear through the doorway, suddenly uncertain.

"You haven't been married long," Lakshmi said.

"Pardon?" Bond focused back on her, resettling the easy smile on his face with an effort, trying to shove his uneasiness to the back of his mind.

"You're hard to read, but he's not." She smiled into her brandy, her deep brown eyes regarding Bond warmly. "His heart's in his eyes every time he looks at you."

"That's — " Bond felt his stomach churn sickeningly. "That's — flattering to hear."

He drained his glass quickly, letting the fine liquor burn down his throat, trying to settle his nerves. "So...do you enjoy the symphony as well?"

* * *

><p>The Aston Martin's engine purred as Bond guided the car down the long drive.<p>

"Infiltration malware is installed," Q said crisply into his mobile. "Initiate archive searches now, start tracing the accounts. With any luck, the financials will lead us to Vuu Quang Dat. I'm on my way in to HQ, be prepared to update me when when I arrive. ETA twenty minutes."

Q ended the call and slid his mobile into his jacket pocket, but remained facing the window, streetlights alternately casting the austere lines of his face in light and shadow. Bond saw the adam's apple bob in that slender, vulnerable stretch of throat, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Q," he began, before the words stopped up his throat. _ What in the hell had he planned to say anyway?_

Q's body twitched, the slightest hunch to his shoulders now as if he were fighting the urge to curl in around himself protectively. "It — it doesn't have to change anything, you know," he finally said softly. "It was a momentary lapse. We can both erase this abominable evening from our memories and you can just...go back to not knowing."

Bond rolled his shoulders as lines of tension crawled up his neck. "It doesn't work that way, Q."

"What do you suggest then, 007?" Q's voice could cut glass. "A _pity fuck?"_ He glanced at Bond, his eyes shockingly vivid even in the dim and changeable light, and whatever he saw in Bond's expression seemed to unnerve him. He looked out the window once more, shaking his head and then huffing out a soft sigh. His voice became hushed again, the anger passing as quickly as it had flared. "Just leave it be, Bond. _Please."_

"How — " _How can I leave it be? How can you possibly feel that for me? How did I not see it before now? _

"How long?" Bond found himself saying.

"Does it matter?" Q answered, sharp and immediate. Bond returned his stare, implacable, until Q's eyes dropped.

Q's slender fingers began fidgeting with the crease of his trousers over his knee, smoothing the fabric and then plucking at it again, his eyes intent on the useless task. "Since the beginning."

_Christ._ Bond's reeling mind replayed through the events of the last year since he had first met Q in that gallery. Every sharp word Q spoke into his earpiece, his voice crackling with intensity — focusing Bond during his missions, saving his skin again and again despite — or perhaps because of — the cutting, sarcastic tones. Every gadget pushed at Bond with stern admonishments against carelessness, Q's eyes smudged dark underneath with exhaustion. Everything that had irked Bond about the young Quartermaster — that Bond had interpreted as hostility and condescension and dismissal. Now it felt as if the ground was shifting under Bond's feet, a seismic shift as the world tilted and then resettled into an entirely new landscape. Bond replayed those events through the filter of his newfound knowledge and saw them for what they really were. Ever-vigilant caretaking, fierce concern, and technological tokens of affection — all wrapped in a prickly, self-protective facade, and Bond hadn't noticed in the slightest.

"I am —" Q swallowed audibly, interrupting the mad tumble of Bond's thoughts. "I am, first and foremost, your Quartermaster, Bond. Nothing need change about that. This will — " His hand fluttered expressively. " — resolve."

"Will it?" Bond didn't know if he was speaking to Q or to himself.

Q twitched his shoulder, the ghost of a shrug, and turned to the window again, leaning his forehead against the cool glass tiredly.

Bond drove the rest of the way in heavy silence. Only as they passed the security checkpoint and entered the carpark at HQ did Q seem to rouse, straightening up and fiddling with his cuffs.

"If our investigations bear fruit I expect you'll be off to Da Lat in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Best get some rest, 007. I'll get started on your kit."

"Thank you, Q," Bond said, sincere for once, and Q flinched, the skin around his eyes tightening and his mouth pressing into an unhappy line. _Bugger._

The car was still rolling to a stop as Q opened the passenger door. Bond hurriedly threw the gear into park. Q turned, one foot on the ground outside the car, and without forethought Bond found his hand flashing out, grasping Q's wrist.

Q's arm tensed as if to pull away for a moment, but then he paused, settling back into his seat, his gaze lifting to Bond's.

Bond could only look back for painfully long seconds, paralyzed in a welter of confusion and uncertainty. He felt a flush rise up his neck as Q's eyebrows lifted in inquiry.

"I — " Bond began, ending in a frustrated growl as it became apparent that the words to fix this would not magically appear.

Bond squeezed his eyes shut hard, and then opened them again. His grip on Q's wrist slackened, the shackle of his hand softening, gentling. Bond felt the slow pull of inevitability welling up inside him as he let his fingers trail down until Q's hand was held loosely in his own. He circled his thumb, deep and slow in the palm of Q's hand — an echo of the gesture made earlier that night as a taunt, now nothing at all like a taunt. An affirmation. Perhaps — just perhaps — even the unformed beginning of a promise.

Q's expression softened, and Bond read the progression of emotion in those vivid grey-green eyes. Wariness, affection, and just the barest flicker of hope. Q gave Bond's hand a squeeze and opened the door again, sliding fluidly from the car.

He closed the door behind himself softly and unhesitatingly, leaving Bond to his confusion as Q walked straight-backed to the lift, returning to work.


	2. Stormy Weather

Summary: A quick cheer-up fic for fightyourdragons, who requested 00Q and a thunderstorm. :-D

Chapter Text

The mission had been a success, the information extracted almost effortlessly, and so Q had no earthly idea why Bond seemed so unbelievably _put out._ He tried to match Bond's punishing pace as they strode through the streets of Montreal, but found himself lagging a few steps behind despite his best efforts. It brought to mind memories of being the youngest brother, tagging along to school behind his impatient and ill-tempered siblings, and he didn't like it one bit.

The humid, oppressive air seemed to heighten the thick tension between them, the storm clouds gathering in the west no match for Bond's glowering expression. At the next street crossing Bond turned once again to check on Q's progress with an aggrieved expression, and Q finally snapped.

"Do go on without me, 007, if I am such an albatross around your neck. I can find my own way back to the hotel."

A muscle twitched in Bond's jaw. "We need to get back and report. And it's going to rain."

Q crossed his arms mutinously. "Feel free to call in without me. And I apologize for not having the foresight to requisition you _an exploding umbrella_, but I did at least waterproof all your equipment, so you can rest assured that a little rain will not melt the flash drive if you're concerned about the data."

"I'm not concerned about the _damned data_," Bond rasped irritably. "And on that subject, don't you think we've deviated from the plan enough for one mission?"

Q ignored the ominous rumble of thunder as he stared back at Bond. "What on _earth_ are you talking about?"

Bond paced impatiently back to Q, grasping the sleeve of his jacket and pulling him into motion again. He kept one hand tight on Q's jacket as they walked, even as his eyes refused to meet Q's puzzled expression.

"I'm _talking_ about _you_ making contact with the mark. We only had to get close enough for you to hack his mobile, he wasn't supposed to notice you. He wasn't supposed to try to _pull_ you right in front of me!" Another crack of thunder, much closer now, punctuated Bond's angry words.

"What?" Q stopped again, almost stumbling over his own feet as rain started to patter down around them. "He wasn't trying to _pull_ me, it was a simple conversation. Anyway, I could hardly ignore the man, could I?"

"Fucking _hell_," Bond spat. "You can't _possibly_ be that oblivious. Of _course_ he was trying to pull you. And his lover — who, may I remind you, is almost as highly placed in the crime syndicate as the mark — was looking at you like he would like to flay you alive."

"I —" The rain was coming down in earnest now, and Q struggled to focus through his streaked and foggy glasses. "Honestly?"

Bond's laugh was bitter as he wiped his jacket sleeve across his eyes, swiping the rain-soaked fringe back from his forehead. "Of _course_ you didn't notice. You're always in your own world, with your tech and your predictive models. No human stands a chance, do they? You don't even realize what you do to m— to people."

It was true, Q had to admit, always had been. He tended to focus his attention inward, the lure of technology and puzzles and complex mathematics more intriguing most times than the people around him. That didn't mean that he _remained_ oblivious, however, when his attention was engaged. And he was looking at Bond now, his quicksilver mind cataloguing every nuance of Bond's reaction. There was no reason for Bond to be so upset, either about the mark flirting with Q or about Q potentially being in danger, unless —

Another thing Q knew about himself was that he made decisions quickly and wholeheartedly. He felt the smile spread across his rain-soaked face as he reached out, sliding his palm inside the edge of Bond's jacket to rest against his side. The now-translucent fabric of Bond's white shirt was still warm from the heat of his body and yet Bond still shivered as Q ran the hand up over his ribs in a firm caress. "What I do to…_people?"_ Q repeated. "No one in particular?"

"Dammit," Bond growled, even as he took a step closer, his arm winding around Q's back to draw him in. "You're a menace. I knew — I just _knew_ that if you ever found out I'd be in trouble."

The heavens had opened fully, the steady rain now a downpour, and the street was deserted aside from the two of them. Q had both hands burrowed underneath Bond's jacket now, pulling his shirttails free to slide underneath and spread out across the skin of his back. He ignored Bond's huff of breath at the coldness of his hands, nuzzling a trickle of rain from the sharp edge of Bond's jaw. "So you decided to act like an arse to throw me off the scent. Diabolical," he teased, as another wave of rain crashed down on them, thunder rumbling the pavement below their feet.

"You." Bond shook his head before ducking down to capture Q's mouth. The kiss was warm and soft and lingering, luxurious and unhurried despite the deluge that surrounded them. "You are a force of nature, Q."


	3. Cover

Summary: 00Q (Bond/Q)

Chapter Text

Inspired by this gif set.

"Oi! Dicky! That you? _Oi!"_

Bond zeroed in automatically on the disturbance, a slender man charging towards him through the press of people. The cheap champagne and blaring music had already started a dull pounding at the back of his head; now, as the man approached, Bond wondered if they were causing hallucinations as well.

Bond blinked stupidly for a second, trying to reconcile the face and figure of his Quartermaster with a demeanor that was so very much…_not._ In the six months since Skyfall had burned Bond felt that he had gotten to know every aspect of his Quartermaster. There was the prim and pressed young man who lectured him sternly about equipment loss over the rim of a cup of Earl Grey. There was the rumpled and stubbled Q — jittery with caffeine and ginger biscuits, dark smudges under his drooping eyelashes — who Bond would practically have to shovel into a taxi after more than twenty-four consecutive hours at the comms during a dicey mission. Bond's mind seemed to stutter, however, as he tried to reconcile _this_ man — brash and sleazy and puppyish — with the ever-unflappable Quartermaster.

"Watch yourself, yeah?" Someone bumped shoulders with the man and he shoved them seemingly automatically, the move so carelessly aggressive that for a moment Bond's thoughts reeled with possibilities — identical twins, mimetic plastic surgery, latex masks…

Then the man was before him — an eye-searing barrage of ridiculous goatee and gelled hair and a shirt so shiny and red it thumped Bond's headache up a notch — and in the midst of it all, grey-green eyes that flickered over Bond so warmly and keenly that Bond could no longer doubt it. Everything else could be faked, but Bond would know those eyes anywhere. It was a familiarity borne from the countless times Bond had limped back from a rough mission to find Q — his voice dry and sarcastic but his eyes shadowed with concern, flickering over Bond to silently assess every little cut and bruise.

Q slid into the booth close enough to Bond that their trousers brushed. Christ, he even _smelled_ different, like cheap cologne and even cheaper gin.

"Dicky!" the man said with a wide grin. "I'd a known you anywhere! This is a turn-up, innit?"

Bond offered his hand, and Q grabbed it with a loud slap of palm, shaking it overly enthusiastically. Bond forced his eyes away, scanning the room again as if bored.

"Christ, this music's loud, innit? I can barely hear myself think!" Q yelled. He leaned in closer, close enough that Bond could feel the warm breath on his ear, as Q dropped back into his normal voice. "Your cover is blown, comms are compromised, and we have to assume the extraction point is as well. Revert to alternate extraction point, lose your tail and be there by oh-three hundred hours for pickup. Copy that?"

Bond forced a smirk onto his face, as if Q had told him an amusing story. He nodded once, eyes still scanning the room. "Yeah, sure."

"Cool! Cool." Q leaned back in the booth, legs spread wide, and Bond suddenly placed the mannerisms. A brash young hacker MI6 had picked up in Albania a few months ago — Q had observed the interrogations, carefully culling the useful information from every admission Bond had extracted from the man. Bond had no idea that Q was such an incredible mimic.

They both watched the crowd silently for awhile, Bond holding the look of boredom on his face with an effort as his thoughts raced. Christ, he had already known he was under close surveillance, and if his cover was already blown, Q was putting himself at incredible risk by making contact. As skilled as he appeared to be, it was still a terrifying gamble, and Bond found himself furious that Q had agreed to it.

Q drained one of the champagne glasses, and then pushed himself to his feet. "Well, I gotta motor, but it was a blast seein' you again, Dicky. Say hi to Bobby and Alf for me, okay?"

Bond felt his pulse beat faster, the muscles in his body locking tight with tension. He didn't know if he wanted to keep Q at his side, where he could protect him, or push him away quickly, out of the line of fire. Q turned to go and Bond had grabbed his slender wrist before he even realized he was going to do it. He felt Q's skin, warm and damp underneath his fingertips, pulse thrumming.

"One more thing," Bond said, loudly over the music. He leaned in, voice urgent even as he kept his expression carefully casual. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Q? There are plenty of trained field agents to deliver a message. Why the fuck is it _you?"_

"Yeah, right!" Q smiled widely again. "I saw him the other day, he was just the same!" He leaned in, clapping Bond on the shoulder with an ostentatious thump. "Alec is in deep cover," he murmured. "Who else would you trust?"

He pulled away and Bond could see the facade cracking now, sweat beading at Q's temples, his hands starting to tremble before he gathered them into fists at his side.

"Take care of yourself, Dicky. Yeah?" Q said, and Bond heard the thread of fear in his voice, the plea disguised in the seemingly casual goodbye. They both knew who had Bond under surveillance, and if that organization had managed to compromise the very heart of MI6, Bond's chances of getting to the extraction point were probably slim, creeping closer to nil with every hour that passed.

Bond smiled, wide and cocky. "I always do."

Q smiled back reflexively, his own rare luminous smile, and Bond felt it tug sharply at something in his chest, leaving a dull ache behind.

"Truer words were never spoken," Q agreed loudly, sketching a salute. "Catch you later, Dicky."

There had barely been a moment to think in the hours since the meet. First Bond had to lose his tail, a long process involving a vigorous footchase, a motorcycle, a speedboat, and eventually a bloody combat that had ended with Bond panting and bleeding over three corpses, his shaky fingers tamping down hard to steady the knife lodged in his ribcage.

By the time he had made the extraction point he was dizzy and panting with blood loss, aware of nothing but a surreal pinwheel of images involving Q's face, medics, and finally the blessed relief of the needle in his vein. He had woken up more than twenty hours later, bullied his way out of Medical, and had finally made it home, settling in his chair with a highly medically-contraindicated tumbler of whiskey.

Only then, with nothing but time to think, did Q's words start nudging at his memory.

_"Who else would you trust?"_

It was true. If any other agent, even one known to Bond, had approached him and told him to cut off communication with HQ and change extraction points, Bond would have assumed that they had been compromised.

Everyone had a pressure point — absolutely _everyone_ was vulnerable to some sort of leverage — but for some reason it had never even occurred to Bond that Q could be luring him into a trap. How was that possible? How, in just six months, had Q managed to slide under Bond's guard like that? And now that Bond had realized it, what was he going to do about it?

He could push Q away. It would be easy enough to do. Bond could request someone else for field support. It's not like he _needed_ to check in with Q after every mission, after all. It had just become habit. He simply found himself gravitating toward Q-Branch after every mission, his aches and jangled nerves somehow soothed by Q's dry tone as he calmly rehashed the mission under the guise of equipment check-in.

Habits could be broken, and Bond could cut Q out of his life with the ease of a single phone call. He could call Q-Branch right now in fact — speak to R, and ask her to take over his mission support. Bypassing Q like that, making the request of his subordinate — it was enough of an insult that the implication would be unmistakeable.

Bond found himself dialing as if by rote. Although he usually communicated with Q via earpiece, he did know the extension for Q-Branch after all. It's not like Q-Branch began and ended with Q, even if it might seem that way sometimes lately.

"007. Is everything okay?" Q's voice immediately interrupted the line, strung tight with tension.

"Q?" Bond felt his heart turn over, his head suddenly feeling muddled with confusion. "Since when do they have you answering the phones?"

"I —" Bond could hear the momentary hesitation. "I have an automatic re-route of any calls placed to Q-Branch from your mobile. Direct to me, on earpiece if I'm on comms, to my mobile otherwise." Bond could hear the self-consciousness in his voice, and suddenly he just knew that Q was blushing. "I — I thought perhaps if there was an emergency…it's a more efficient system…" His voice trailed off uncertainly.

"So you have an automatic re-route for all the field agents? Or just all the double-ohs?" Bond couldn't help himself from prodding the already-flustered Q.

"Well. Er. I mean, it was kind of a pilot program, one might say. I certainly _might_ roll it out to some of the other agents. I mean. Er. Eventually." Q cleared his throat. "Was there something you needed, Bond?"

Bond leaned his head back, suddenly giddy. It might be the pain meds, or it might be the whiskey, but somehow he thought that it was mostly just Q. "Yes," Bond said, finding that his mind was already made up, and probably had been for awhile. "Dinner?"


End file.
